Mind Over Body
"Sammy, get down!" came the loud roar of John Winchester.
Too little too late.
"Sam!" came the cry of the eldest Dean as they watched Sam be thrown backwards by an invisible force into a shelf of jars. The crunch of Sam's body hitting the shelf was followed by the sound of cracking glass as it rained down upon the floor where Sam now lay in a heap, unmoving.
Dean Winchester hated witches -maybe more then any other blood sucking, people eating monster that they hunted. And this one had been a particularly nasty pain in his ass. Dean figured it was bad enough having to deal with some fugly witch -well he used the term fugly lightly considering that the over 300 year old broad, back from the dead, was actually drop dead gorgeous -But to top things off this one was summoning and controlling spirits amongst the small town of Youngstown Ohio.
John watched as Dean went to run towards Sam and quickly called him off. First and foremost they immediately had to deal with the witch. Shotgun in hand to deal with the spirits, John took off at a sprint out the small room they had been corralled in and began climbing stairs of the abandoned warehouse, Dean hot on his heals. Reaching the landing of the stairs, both immediately slowed their movements and raised their guns in front of them. The hall was dark as John pulled a flashlight out of his back pocket, the click of it turning on sounded deafening against the silence. John traded Dean for his pistol as he held the flashlight in one hand and crossed his arm supporting his gun hand. He waited a second as Dean snugged the shotgun up to his shoulder and with a quick affirmative nod they began to move slowly down the hallway.
They checked each room, quickly and quietly and were finally left with one door. It's old hinges creaked open and dust lifted from the floor as they stepped inside. The lights beamed on as they stood face to face with Isador, a small smile encompassing her perfect face.
"Tsk tsk tsk" she clucked her tongue, "I didn't think you Winchester's were the type to just go barging in. Oh, and so unprepared" she feigned with fake sympathy.
"Sweetheart don't plan on our bag of tricks being empty just yet" Dean let out with a cocky grin as he lowered his shotgun towards her chest.
An arrogant smile spread across her face as she started to step backwards away from Dean "You think shooting me with some rock salt will do any good" she cooed out, almost insulted at his ignorance.
"Nah" He chuckled with a smile, eyes briefly glancing to the ceiling, then back to her "But the sigil circle you just stepped in will probably hold ya"
Isador's mouth dropped open in utter shock, before she regained her composure and a look of pure loathing and hatred weaved it's way across her features. Dean continued to smile -this was a good day.
"It doesn't matter Winchesters" she hissed out like venom, pure fury raging in her eyes "Lot of good a damn sigil circle's going to do when you can't even get rid of me. My magic's old -older even then your time John"
"Yah, about that" John said out to her lightheartedly, before breaking his glance and turning towards his eldest 'Dean' he said as he nodded his head towards the door.
"Got it" he said as he bent his arm up, resting the shotgun barrel on his shoulder and slipping out of the room. But being Dean Winchester he couldn't forget his parting words, he would consider it rude, as he quickly turned around and popped his head back in the door way "Don't go anywhere" he chuckled to Isador as he hightailed it to the car to grab what they needed.
"You and your boys are dead John-"
"I wouldn't count on it" he deadpanned as he cut off her rant, seemingly making her more angry.
"Hah!" she bellowed out "You need more then guns and whatever magic tricks you're going to try to attempt to get rid of me"
"What" John began, deciding to humour her with the knowledge that she presumed they didn't have "like your bones"
Her face faltered for only a second, but John Winchester didn't miss much.
"You'll never find them" she hissed out with a glare.
At that moment Dean came walking into the room, untying a brown sack as he went, promptly flipping it over and dumping bones all over the ground in front of him "Well to be honest it wasn't that hard Miss Isador Lockwood. Salem Massachusetts. Birthdate 1651"
Savage cries escaped Isador's lips as she fell to her hands and knee's. One minute cursing the Winchesters, the next minute begging and pleading for freedom.
John and Dean wasted no time in summoning their own spell and banishing Isador for good. "Bye buh bitch" Dean let out as her screams filled the warehouse and all that was left was a smoking pile of ash.
John and Dean quickly made their way back to the small room where they had last seen Sam. Upon entering, John's gut clenched in unease, as he realized Sam was still past out on the floor in the same spot.
"Sammy?" John said as he knelt down beside him, gently rolling him onto his back. Swamp green goop from the jars, that stunk worse then Dean and onions, was smeared across Sam's face and lips. Blood trickled from a cut on his temple.
"Sam" John tried again before taking his fist and rubbing it roughly against Sam's sternum.
Sam's brows immediately furrowed in pain as he clumsily attempted to knock the hand away with his own.
"Open your eyes Sam" John commanded as he took an old cloth from his pocket and began to wipe the goop off of his son's face and neck.
"Eh, Sammy" Dean called out while knocking his brother roughly in the shoulder.
Blue/green eyes fluttered open and stared blankly at the ceiling. Sam could see nothing but blurred shadows hovering above him as he began to blink his eyes, trying to clear the haze.
"Come on Behemoth" Dean remarked as he fisted his hands into Sam's jacket and pulled him into a sitting position.
Sam teetered as Dean kept a hold of him "What. The hell…smells like ass" Sam finally slurred out.
"That would be you little brother" Dean said as he pointed towards Sam's face "and whatever this green shit is all over you"
"Wonderful" Sam uttered indifferently.
"How many fingers am I holding up" John said out as he raised three fingers into Sam's line of vision.
Sam's brow scrunched up and he moved his head around before giving the correct answer.
After John was satisfied that Sam's brain had indeed not turned into scrambled eggs, he and Dean hoisted him up and helped him towards the awaiting Impala. The trio made a quick return to the motel where Sam claimed dibs on the shower. Dean wasn't even going to fight him on this one. The stinky slime that covered Sam had almost made Dean throw up more then once on the car ride back.
As soon as Sam had clambered out of the shower and left the motel bathroom, John had instantly walked towards him, taking his chin in his hand and turning his attention to the side of his head. John reached up, pushing back the dripping wet hair that was covering Sam's temple and was not impressed by the angry bruise. Dean glanced at Sam, as if checking to see if he was still kicking before shutting the door and taking his turn in the bathroom.
"We better keep an eye on that kiddo" he spoke out while gently pushing his thumb against the skin.
"Yes'ir" was Sam's immediate response as a slight wince crossed his features from the poking and prodding that his father was doing.
"Get some sleep" John said while clapping Sam on the shoulder.
Sam grimaced at the rough touch. His head wasn't the only thing that had been thrown into the wall after all. He quickly popped the two pills, and drank the glass of water that had been left on the nightstand. He would have to remember to thank Dean for those later.
The three called it an early night at the motel, and all settled in to get some sleep for the next day. John planned to be on the road bright and early, headed towards Choctaw Oklahoma, where it sounded like the town was having the unwanted company of a Rugaru.
Upon waking up Dean ungracefully sauntered towards the bathroom. After exiting he was about to rouse Sam when he noticed his bed was empty. Dean looked around in confusion wondering if their dad had sent Sam out to get anything, but John still lay fast asleep. He looked for the Impala keys and saw them tossed on the nightstand beside John.
"What the fuck Sam" he muttered out wondering where his brother had taken off to.
"urrghh" came an angry groan from the bed that Sam should have been sleeping on. But this groan was much too high pitched for Sam, just as whiney though Dean thought. Quietly shifting towards his jacket that was draped over a chair, Dean pulled out his pistol and cocked it as he moved towards Sam's seemingly empty bed.
Dean's face fell into complete shock as he looked down upon a little mop of curly brown hair -he knew who that belonged to. "Oh God" he said out too loudly as he stood, arm outstretched in front of him, pistol aimed on Sam who was currently the size of a toddler. Upon hearing Dean's voice John and Sam's eyes snapped open as a chorus of 'What the fuck' rung out in the tiny motel room.
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